


Hurt

by bazookaskilltheenvironment



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Hurt Steve Harrington, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Parental Jim "Chief" Hopper, Protective Billy Hargrove, Protective Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Tortured Steve Harrington
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bazookaskilltheenvironment/pseuds/bazookaskilltheenvironment
Summary: Left at the hands of the Russians by himself, Steve is prone to the wicked desire Ozerov and his men have for him.His list of fears involves the dark and the monsters lurking under his bed. Why not toss in a healthy fear of men into the mix.
Relationships: Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington & Everyone, Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Steve Harrington/Ozerov
Comments: 10
Kudos: 74





	1. The Bad Part

“H-hey, let’s talk about this!! please- NO! DON’T!! DO- AGGHHH!!” he sobbed, attempting to keel forwards in order to curl away from the pain. But the bonds holding him down withheld that reflex, forcing him to accept the screaming pain in his index finger. He heaved out wheezing breaths and tried not to curl his hand into a fist, knowing the pain would only intensify. But it had only solidified the nauseating pit in his stomach as he stared dazedly at his missing fingernail. 

He felt a chill crawl up his spine, and fought his need to shiver lest the Russians decide that he needed more, or less if they were to continue ridding him of his nails. Instead, he swallowed thickly in order to repress the burning heat forming in his eyes. 

“W-why?” he gasped sharply as he felt one of the men dig into his scalp, yanking his head up.

_“Butterscotch,”_ the man started, accent heavy when he spoke, _“my men will teach you why the Russians are to be feared. And why our questions are to be answered.”_

Then, lust clouded his vision as he bore straight into those honeyed, doe eyes, glaring back up at him in concealed fear. Steve felt a finger fiddling with the hem of his uniform shorts. _Damn the fucking shorty shorts._ And he could do nothing but flinch away from the touch as the finger rode higher and higher, touching the edge of his underwear then pulling away.

He let out a breath he hadn’t even known he had been holding, but a choked gasp escaped him as the hand seized his thigh, squeezing harder and harder as time went by. The sick gleam in the man’s eyes gazed upon him in such a senseless hunger. Steve turned away, _he wouldn’t let the fucker see him cry._

The man tutted, cooing at him as if he was nothing more than a child. _“Do not look away,”_ emphasizing his point by snatching his jaw and clenching it between his fingers. _“You like this, no?”_ gripping his thigh even harder. _“Ozerov… do not forget that name, Butterscotch.”_

Fuck that. Immediately after the man’s statement, Steve’s bonds loosened, spurring him into action. He shoved Ozerov- _the man_ off of him, running towards what he assumed was the exit. But the iron grip on his thigh left him shaky, and the hoards of men in the room with him was enough to bring him down, literally.

Steve felt the air push out of him as he was thrown to the ground, desperately trying to catch his breath as the men above him tore at his clothes. He scratched, kicked, punched, did everything he _could_ to escape the men but they held him down. By the legs, by the arms, by the _throat,_ leaving him breathless and pliant to their molestation.

“Pl-ease… do-on’t,” he gasped out, a choked sob escaping him, “le-t me g-go, ple-ease…”

Steve whined quietly, hoping the men would stop groping his body. He felt his nipples being rubbed in circular motions, fondled softly, eliciting a soft mewl out of him. His eyes widened, surprise painting his features and red flushing his skin. He heard the men laughing at him, and he wished he could just curl away from them in all his naked glory.

Enjoying the sight of his squirming, the men fell back into their previous motions of pinching and prodding wherever they could. A finger dipped into his navel, sending a tingle straight to his cock, he bit back a soft gasp. He could already feel his dick becoming unwillingly hard between the men’s actions and the chill in the room. 

Seemingly finished with whatever they had been doing, the man situated between his legs grabbed underneath his thighs and bent them towards his chest, fully exposing his rim to the entirety of the room. The feeling of helplessness caused blood to rush to his ears, overpowering the jeers and hoots the men were throwing at him.

Although the thought was sitting in his brain since the moment he had woken up, he felt the overwhelming _need_ to escape overpower him. The position he was forced into sparking a rising panic within him. Utilizing the fact that they had let their guards down in his moment of weakness, he let out a guttural cry, wrenching his arms away from the men surrounding him and locking his ankles around the man’s neck, twisting his body in such a way that he was now straddling the man between his legs in a chokehold.

But, of course, he could never catch a break. Because immediately after, his shoulders were grasped in a burning grip, forcing him to the ground. Looking up, he made eye contact with those empty, black pools, reminding him so much of the darkness Steve had learned to fear. 

_“Butterscotch…”_ Ozerov murmured darkly, before aggressively slotting his lips onto his own. The force in which he had used to slam their lips together caused his head to bang onto the ground and his brain to rattle within his skull. 

Steve groaned in pain, allowing Ozerov’s tongue to slither into his mouth, invading and mapping out every nook and cranny. His attempts at pushing the fucker away were futile, as the men around him had returned to their old positions. The only difference being the increase in strength in which he was held down.

Now, he couldn’t prevent the inevitable and he tensed in apprehension as the same man placed himself between his legs, dug into the fleshy part underneath his thighs, spread his legs wider apart, and pushed his legs down to his chest. So much so that his thighs were touching his stomach, and the strain of his inflexibility caused an aching pain to rise higher and higher the more the men waited.

Quickly becoming breathless from the aggressive kiss Ozerov was forcing onto him, he whined and tensed unwittingly in a blind panic. But laughter was the only thing he got in response to his pleads. Ozerov pulled away from him, allowing him to gulp in heaving breaths, only to chuckle at his patheticness.

_“My men say your cunt is twitching in desire,”_ nonchalant to the implications of his statement, _“and from your eyes, I can tell you are enjoying this.”_

Steve violently shook his head, these men were sick. And he was stuck in a room full of them. Forced to become their cum machine. An inhumane fuck hole for them. Shakily inhaling, he closed his eyes to rearrange his thoughts.

He hoped the rest had made it out ok. He remembered how Robin had hesitated to escape, debating on whether she should stay with Steve or protect the children. But he had already made that decision for her, screaming for her to leave with them, to not let them out of her sight. Hoping to any god out there that they were safe and away from these sick fuckers.

He felt fingers prod at his entrance, before they forced their way into his mouth. _“Suck,”_ one of them had demanded, the man pushed his legs down even further to ensure his obedience. So he sucked, the men seeming to enjoy how he gagged when the fingers reached the back of his throat and the slopping sounds that escaped his lips when the fingers thrust in and out of his mouth.

He could feel the tears falling from his eyes and into his sweaty hairline. _“Better me than Robin. Better me than Dustin. Better me than Erica.”_ he repeated again and again in his mind, even after the fingers left his mouth.

Dread seized his heart, he knew what was coming next. And he tried, just one last time, to escape from his bounds, but the men were prepared and they would not let him go.

A spit slicked finger circled his rim, mockingly warning him of the coming penetration. But what he hadn't been ready for was two fingers being shoved through the tight ring of muscle. He cried out in shock, rebelliously flinching away from the burning invasion. But the hands held him down, repressing his movement, laughing at him, jeering at him, leering, mesmerized by the sheer pain that shone on his body.

“NO-AGGHH!! STOP, STOP IT, NO NO, PLEASE! IT HURTS!! HU-URTS!! PLEASE, NO!” he shrieked out, his words slurring together due to the pain. His body shook from the onslaught, tears running rampant on his face, clumping his lashes together. He kept screaming, even when the fingers were removed only to be replaced with a dick. 

He didn’t even notice when the change occurred, the only thing warning him of the incoming penetration being the tip of the shaft, then a tearing pain. Causing him to howl even louder as the man split him into two. He heaved in breath after breath, but none were deep enough to expel the sheer amount of pain that spiked through his body. 

Every time the man thrust out, he tore at the walls inside of him, raking his cock over sensitive skin. Then he would thrust back in, painfully abusing his prostate, again and again, his back arching in anguish. Spreading his legs and pushing even harder down, the man leaned over and captured his lips in his, foul breath filling his mouth. The man didn’t stop, not even when he began scratching at the hands holding him down, not even when his voice grew hoarse, not even when he stopped reacting. 

Tears clouded his vision and the agony hazed his thoughts. His body twitched when the man bottomed out, releasing his seed inside of him, a nauseating fullness filling his stomach. Steve felt the man pull out, a viscous fluid following in its wake. 

A finger swirled around the oozing liquid gushing out of him, occasionally pressing down on the inner walls of his hole, making him whimper in pain. The offending limb pressed against his lips, sticky goop now etched onto his mouth. A hand grasped his jaw, putting just enough pressure to make his mouth fall open. Immediately the finger dove through his lips, smearing the fluid that was on it onto his tongue. He could make out the saltiness and a tinge of copper and swallowed subconsciously, not really thinking about whatever they had put into his mouth.

Not a second after, the realization hit him and the nauseating feeling that had filled him just a minute before hit him full force. Bile rose from his throat, but the hand on his jaw forced his mouth shut and no amount of keening would let him go.

He whined desperately, he needed to get that shit out of him. And he tore at his restraints yet again, hoping his anguish would show through. But the man would not let up, he could feel it rising, the need to gag so strong but the hand repressing it. His face grew red by the strain of holding it back, but even his own body wouldn’t listen to him as he choked on his own vomit.

Throat seizing up, he sputtered, bile dribbling down his mouth. Still, the man did not let go. His head grew woozy after his attempts at swallowing his bile failed again and again. Strained sobs interrupted his process, causing flecks of vomit to splatter all over his face. Finally, the man let his jaw go, allowing him to heave into the bucket that appeared next to him.

He felt a wet rag wipe at his face and neck, silently grateful that he wouldn’t have to endure the stench of his vomit throughout the time they were going to fuck him. Then they poured water into his mouth, stale and tasting of metal, but anything was better than the sickening taste of digested ice cream.

The episode left him dizzy and a little worse for wear, as he couldn’t even fight the incoming change in position. Another man settled between his legs as they arranged his ass to face the sky and his face to be smushed against the ground. He twisted his neck so that only half of his face would be crushed by the man’s weight. 

Again, panic held him in its grip, telling him just how fucked up the situation was. Breathing deeply was out of the question, between the man’s death grip on his hips and how he leaned over him, possibly to antagonize him, it was hard to breathe. The man’s crushing weight held him down, only allowing tiny gasps of breath to oxygenate him. He could feel the remnants of semen and blood trickling back into him and to god knows where, and the urge to gag was almost too strong to ignore.

Steve could feel the man beginning to slide into him, but this man entered slowly, causing the aching pain to throb the more he penetrated inwards. Without being able to breathe properly, hitched gasps and shaking whimpers were the only sounds he could make. It made him dizzy, but allowed him to forget the feeling of the pain and instead distracted him with swirling, black dots swimming in his vision.

He failed to notice how the others had left his hands and arms free, how they were allowing themselves to drink in his suffering, how they were leering at his body, waiting for their turn. They cheered the man raping him on, enjoying how the bruising grip on his hips left marks on his pale, creamy skin. Enjoying the man’s finesse, how he would slam Steve’s hips backwards in order to meet his cock halfway. Enjoying how pink Steve’s asscheeks became after slamming repeatedly into the man’s hips. Enjoying how unrelenting he was in his violence. 

Allowing the enthusiasm to wash over him, the man risked letting go of one of the boy’s hips and brought his hand down over his nape. Squeezing tightly, before lifting it up and slamming it down in time with his thrusts. A euphoric feeling filled his chest as he heard the pained mewls coming out of the boy underneath him. Soon after, bottoming out and cumming in the boy’s hole, sated by his condition.

Turning the boy’s body around, he cooed in delight, seeing how unfocused his eyes were and the bruise forming on his cheek. Stroking it reverently, he allowed the next man to take his go with the boy, pulling out and lifting his hips so nothing would spill out.

And the cycle continued, he never noticed when the pain stopped and started morphing into pleasure. His mind far away, far away from the blue tinted lights, far away from the metal hallways that led to metal rooms, far away from the Russian accents and their grunts and cooes. 

_Maybe he should have let Robin take his place- no nO NO NO NO! Don’t let them get to you Steve, you did the right thing, they’re ok. Better me than Robin. Better me than Dustin. Better me than Erica-_

The force of the slap rang in his brain, distantly, he turned his head to see what had happened. Only seeing the darkness within those eyes, and nothing else. Ozerov lifted his body and placed him in his lap. He didn’t feel any semen dribbling out of his hole, _did they clean it out? Am I just numb?_ But Ozerov seemed to know what he was thinking, because he trailed his fingers down to hole, only to push against something in it. 

Confusion was etched onto his face, making Ozerov laugh, _“Butterscotch,”_ he purred adoringly, _“We plugged you up, now, nothing can escape.”_ He noticed the distinct feeling of his heart dropping, hopelessness taking its place, but he had no energy. He was unable to pull away, his limbs felt uncontrollable, like they had drugged him or some shit. 

_“Oh, no, none of that, Butterscotch,”_ he cooed, kissing along the tear tracks of his face. _“It is just us now,”_ he beamed at Steve, _“you have nothing to fear.”_

Shaking, he whimpered when Ozerov held him in his arms, ridding him of any feelings of _safe._ Instead he felt trapped and a little claustrophobic. He tensed, and breathed in uneven breaths, hoping that he wouldn’t end up hyperventilating. Willing himself to calm down, he managed to grit out a, “Fuck you,” before spitting in Ozerov’s face. 

That ever present darkness in his eyes seemed to gain a malicious glint, he smirked at Steve, as if amused by his defiance. _“You-“_ an alarm sounded above them, thankfully interrupting Ozerov before he could go to town with him.

Glancing at Steve’s mussed up state, he sighed and lifted him in a bridal carry. He moved towards the medical bed at the edge of the room and placed him down gently. _“I’ll be back, Butterscotch. Sit tight.”_ he murmured, reimplementing the restraints. He went over to a metal tray filled with syringes, grabbed one, and walked back to where he was situated before injecting the syringe into his wrist, _“Sleep well.”_


	2. Umm still kinda bad part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this probably took an unexpected turn from the last chapter. I’m not that good at writing the uhh rapey scenes???? And I mostly wanted to focus more on the comfort part of all of this. So uh yea, sorry if its kinda disappointing.

_Beep Beep Beep_

Opening his eyes, he could make out… nothing really. It was dark, and that was already enough to send a sliver of fear to his heart. He _always_ slept with the lights on. 

_Where was he?_

He tried to turn his head so he could look around the room, but his head felt as heavy as all of his other limbs. Straining his ears, he could hear faint beeping, but piecing together where it was coming from was a whole nother feat he was too exhausted to try.

Trying once more to turn his head, he managed a twitch to the left, which allowed him a little more insight on what this room was. With the slight amount of light coming from what he assumed to be a window, he could distinguish some cabinets and a sink. Roving his eyes around the room he noticed a metal tray, which left him with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It was disconcerting, one moment he was feeling somewhat detached to the room and the next his emotions were slamming themselves into him. He tried looking away from the stupid tray. _It was just a fucking tray._ But he found that he couldn’t, something was coming up in his mind, trying to remind him of why he felt this way. And he knew that he really, really didn’t want to know whatever shit his head was gonna pull on him.

Maybe focusing on what was on the tray would distract him from remembering. Yea, not a bad idea, he saw a scalpel, maybe? He didn’t really know what a scalpel looked like. Next to that were some bandages, huh. Who were these even for? Some sucker got reaaal beat. He scanned the tray disinterestedly. _It's just a tray, Steve._

But a silver glint caught his eye, a tweezer. And he felt that uncomfortable feeling in his stomach again. _Dude, it’s just a tweezer, and what do tweezers do? Yea, they pull things out-_ His brain was niggling at him to _remember_. And he really couldn’t understand why he was so fucking scared of this small, little tray. 

Scanning the rest of the items, he could tell his brain was desperately trying to search for something. Until it landed on a syringe.

The syringe was empty. _Maybe they used it on someone._ And did that thought sent his breath control out the window or what. _Hey, hey, lungs!? I still don’t fucking understand what’s happening!!_ But that didn’t stop his breaths from coming out in short, barely breathing gasps. He felt the sudden urge to _escape_ , filling his body with adrenaline he couldn’t really use. 

Guess that didn’t stop him, because he could feel his body backing away from the tray. It was agonizing, his limbs were practically deadweight for whatever reason, but his mind was pumping in fear. And his fear trumped over all.

He clenched the bedsheets and used his arms to push himself away from the malicious tray. It was hard work, if he couldn’t even lift his head, how was he supposed to lift anything else. He could feel a sweat working its way onto his forehead. Panting lightly, his mind urged him to _hurry the fuck up and move._

And eventually he did move, however small it was. This weirdly spurred him on, he still didn’t know what the hell his body was trying to tell him, but if he wanted the aching fear to stop, then he guessed he needed to oblige. Continuing his trek backwards, he was mutely surprised by the amount of distance he managed to make between him and the dreaded tray. 

But with nothing to stop his backwards escape, he fell off the bed. Crying out, he tried to flail around, grab something to stop his fall, but it seemed that he had spent all of his energy and his limbs rendered useless. As he fell, he felt something rip away from his wrist before he landed on his face, no energy to stop his fall downwards. He could feel the throbbing pain in his gums after his teeth made contact with the floor. 

He tried looking at his wrist to see what that ripping sensation resulted in, but with his face pressed against the floor- _his face was pressed against the floor._ His heart caught in his throat as he remembered. _Remembered_ how the man had pressed his face down, slamming it against the ground, again and again bringing with it a dizzying sensation and an intense pain he had never wanted to remember. 

He remembered how the man kept _doing it_ even when he had stayed still. He had hoped the man would at least stop banging his head everywhere, but what did those sick fucks even know about human decency. Clenching his eyes shut with the intent of forgetting, he finally noticed the tears he had been letting out. 

He grit his teeth, not wanting to acknowledge the hell he had experienced in that stupid Russian lab. He just wanted to forget. Forget it ever happened and just… move on. 

He just scoops ice cream for a living in a mall _that has a secret underground Russian network-_ that has a big fountain right at the center of it. He just lives in a mansion _where a girl died in his pool-_ where his parents never come home. He just lives in _scary_ peaceful, _disturbing_ little Hawkins, Indiana.

A choked sob escaped him, making him grind his teeth together. He’s not fucking weak. He’s Mama Steve, he’s the Protector, he’s the best fucking babysitter in all of Hawkins and he can’t cry just because of something as little as _that._

The tight feeling in his chest reminded him of how the man had held him down. Taking a shaky breath he tried to calm himself, there wasn’t anybody behind him- _was there?_ And he wasn’t being held down against his will- _but he couldn’t get up, he needed to get up._

Desperately, he urged his limbs to move, to push him off the floor, or just enough so that he wasn’t suffocating himself. But nothing _listened_ , he was trapped and he couldn’t get out. 

The faint beeping coming from the room seemed to increase alongside his incessant anxiety, which seemed to be increasing by the moment. He could see the darkness creeping in, moving towards his prone form. A chill worked its way up his spine, reminding him of how there was nothing left to cover him, reminding him of how easily he could be taken right there and then.

He wanted to curl up, hide away from the vulnerable position he had put himself in. He wanted to stop the tears from flowing and for the pathetic noises to stop escaping him. He wanted to stop the voice in his head that kept calling _Butterscotch_ over and over again like a broken record. 

But he never really got what he wanted. So he stayed on the floor, pushing back the cries and the sobs he so desperately wanted to let out. Left to the darkness’s will and that fucking beeping, _alone_ , just like when he had woken up.

“Shit shit shit shit shit SHIT!!!” he sputtered, working himself into a panic. “Shit, Steve, OH MY GOD STEVE!!” 

He was simply coming in for his daily visit. Today was a Saturday, so he biked towards the Hawkins lab/hospital/new hangout spot at 5, not wanting to miss Steve’s possible awakening.

It was really way too early for anyone to be awake at this hour, let alone Steve. But he really missed the guy, even if he wasn’t awake to know it. Throwing his bike somewhere in front of the building, he made his way up. Waving at the exhausted receptionist in the front that he’s come to know as Miss Peggy. 

He considered paying a visit to Hopper or Max’s brother, but decided not to. Steve’s been out cold for 2 months and he was not gonna miss catching him awake first. He’ll just say hi once he knows Steve’s not dead. And was that a morbid thought.

When they had found Steve, he had almost thrown up, legitimately thinking he was dead with all the blood covering him. Although he had most definitely burst into tears when he found him naked under that scratchy blanket they covered him with.

He knew that if Steve found out that they had risked their lives to save him, he would nag his head off. But the gnawing guilt both Robin and Erica had shared with him would never be stopped unless they had done what they did. And he was glad that they had hustled him out of there, because fuck knows what they would’ve done to Steve if they left him.

Reaching Steve’s room, he sucked in a deep breath, trepidation getting on his nerves. Of course he had been visiting Steve practically everyday since he became an inpatient at the lab, but watching him deteriorate before his very eyes never got easier.

He knew that everyone noticed how small and skinny Steve had gotten. Before, he wasn’t a beefboy, but he sure had muscle! It had been 2 months for Christ’s sake. And now… he seemed _so weak_ , like he couldn’t even lift the bat he had so lovingly called his child once upon ago. Now he was standing at death’s door, and no one seemed to _care._

Everyone was just dawdling along with their lives without a care in the world when Steve was _fucking dying._ But he’ll cut Billy some slack, because a whole month of whatever shit was going on with him probably called for a little dawdling here and there.

Ok, he was probably looking a little weird just staring at the door, so he worked up the nerve and knocked. Why did he always knock? He didn’t really know, maybe he did it for nostalgia’s sake. Maybe he just wanted it to feel like old times again. _Just him, Dustin, visiting Steve to hangout at his big ass house and awesome pool._ He circled his hand around the knob, twisted his wrist, then entered the room. 

Everything seemed to be in order. Just like always, there were no broken windows, the metal tray wasn’t knocked over, the heart monitor was beeping at a steady pace, the bed was empty, there were flowers- WAIT FUCK THE BED WAS EMPTY.

“Shit shit shit shit shit SHIT!!!” he sputtered, working himself into a panic. “Shit, Steve, OH MY GOD STEVE!!” 

He worked his way around the bed to see if maybe Steve just liked the floor better than the bed. But he was hit with the bitter, copper smell of blood that created a pool around Steve’s form.

It soaked into his gown, which was slightly exposed in the back but he respectfully moved his eyes away from that, and encompassed his whole body. He noticed it had made its way towards Steve’s face, which was directed towards the floor, and made his way over.

“Oh, Steve… ” putting his hands on either side of Steve’s head, he turned it to the side so the man could finally _breathe._

Noticing the IV catheter was dripping fluid onto the bed, he connected the dots and quickly made his way out of the room. Or more like barreled down the halls screaming maniacally for, “DOCTOR OWEEEEAAAAANS!!!!” if you were to ask Hopper. 

He reached the front desk, to which Miss Peggy gave him the stink eye for whatever reason. “MISS!! MIIISSSS!!!!!” He noticed her growing irate and scrambled to get to the point, “STEVE!! STEVE- THAT HE- UHM, MAN DOWN! OWENS ‘CUZ BLOOD!! UH-“ a hand clutched his shoulder, shutting him up.

“Kid,” it was Hopper, “you gotta calm down-“

“Not a kid,” he grumbled.

“and tell us what’s up with Harrington,” he ended gruffly, hand still fastened to his shoulder. 

Looking up, he could see the sincere worry in the man’s eyes, crystal clear in his intentions. Sighing heavily, he turned towards Miss Peggy, “I… I walked into Steve’s room, you know 5 am sharp, or well not sharp maybe like 5:15 ish, but like I came like I always did, and I was thinking about going to see Hopper or Billy, but I thought I should just see Steve first ‘cuz I wanted to be the first to see him today and-“ the hand on his shoulder squeezed gently, allowing him to take a deep breath and just get down to the nitty gritty.

“Steve was lying face down in his own blood, on the floor, that is. I think he fell off the bed and ripped the IV catheter out, because there was just…” he felt the gentle pressure on his shoulder again, “ _so much blood_ , a-and, and there was… there was a lot,” he finished softly.

The hand guided him towards the quiet presence next to him. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders and allowing him to dig his fingers into the soft, blue fabric of his scrubs, as he cried out his worries.


End file.
